


Breathing Lightly

by sozuko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Humor, M/M, Some crime-solving or whatever it is that Consulting Detectives do these days
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sozuko/pseuds/sozuko
Summary: A supposed curse wrecks the peace in 221B Baker Street and John Watson, now with an 8 month old daughter, has to listen to his best friend declare that the game is, once again, on.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Past Mary Morstan/John Watson - Relationship, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 1





	Breathing Lightly

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a Sweeney Todd (Musical) duet, "Pretty Women." Also, this part serves more as a prologue than an actual chapter but I didn't want to mess the chapter titles up, so, yeah.

Nights with them are the most comfortable, John thinks. Familiar and cosy. Usual things going like usual, somewhat like a routine.

The clock ticks, it's 7. Mrs. Hudson knocks or makes any other sort of noise to announce her arrival, asks if they've eaten, and then offers a few boxes of sweets and desserts. John shyly accepts and she bids him, Sherlock, and their baby goodnight.

Sherlock closes the door for her, John goes back to his seat and lifts Rosie from the cot they had conveniently placed in the middle of the living room. As he feeds and lulls her to sleep, Sherlock goes on and does what he does, skimming over pleas and requests on his blog, conducting experiments in the kitchen, or playing his violin inside his own room so as to not wake Rosie up.

So, maybe,  _ just  _ maybe, it's perfectly valid for John's response to be what it was when Greg rings them one night, just right as he walked into their living room to clean up after putting Rosie to bed, asking Sherlock ー and him, John's sure everyone at Scotland Yard knows by now that the two of them are a Buy One Get One package deal ー to hurry over to the address his newly sent message to John's phone indicates.

"What the absolute fuck is it now?" is what he grumbles to a quite surprisingly irritated Sherlock and "holy shit" is what he says when he sees the crime scene.

John's lucky they didn't bring his sleeping daughter with them, he would never have forgiven himself otherwise.

Mycroft doesn't turn to meet his eyes but nonetheless, John knows the disbelieving yet still affronted expression on his face is directed at him. Sherlock, on the other hand, didn't even shift at all when such vulgar words left his friend's mouth; he was more than used to it by now.

"Yeah," Sally says, walking up to them with a few cups of coffee on one hand and on the other, a bag of what seems to be freshly baked bread based on the whiff John had caught when she neared them. "Even I agree with you on that one. Holy shit."

His stomach gives a low rumble and he pointedly ignores Sherlock and his piss-poor attempt at stifling his laughter. He's hungry, yes, and so what? It's this sloppy serial killer's fault, anyway. Damn them and damn their timing.

_ Oh, God. _ He's starting to sound like Sherlock, is he not?

John dips his hand in the paper bag and sets off with a loaf to go inside the establishment, to take a look at some of the bodies and examine everything within, paying no heed to Greg's frustration-filled shouts of "hey, no food in there!" and "you're gonna get me fired, you're gonna get me fired!" The entire thing was already down in his previously empty stomach before he reached the police tape, anyway.

Honestly, everyone and their dog knew Mycroft would never let that happen. A definite abuse of power; everyone knows that as well, but, it's Mycroft Holmes. He's not so much as above the law as he is the law.

Skipping steps, he runs inside and makes a beeline towards the nearest room, setting a goal of not leaving a single one uninspected. The look of the tall, blood spatter-covered glass windows from outside is more than enough reason for that.

A few hours later and John feels his presence before he hears his voice. He turns to him, already going off about his recent observations. Hand on his elbow, Sherlock leads them to a secluded corner, far away from the others, and he lets himself be dragged away no matter how absurd it is for Sherlock to do so.

"At first, I thought it was carelessness, but, when I saw them, Sherlock, I… The ones I saw, they all had one, single wound in their person. Not only that, but, I'm more than sure that whoever this is, they're more than capable to get what they wanted without getting rid of nearly everyone. We're dealing with aー a cold-blooded killer. A machine. Someone withー experience and a lot of confidence in their… work. Someone… cocky, I guess." He shakes his head and lets out a sigh. "Still, Sherlock. I'm scared."

Sherlock frowns. He quickly loses the expression, though.

"They're a show-off, John. I don't suppose we'll have a problem identifying someone who so desperately wants to be recognised."

_ It's the chase and the capture that's going to prove to be difficult, _ John thinks, and he doesn't even feel the need to utter what Sherlock already knows.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been so long since I've last written anything, so, I'm sorry if it's too rocky and rusty.


End file.
